Kimi lifted his glass. “I heard Milos was perfect for discretion,” he added. “From our other two very famous friendswho have successfully gone off the grid for the last week. So I invited her to join us.” He tipped his chin at me and Callum. “They did the disappearing act first.”
“And you, Lucy?” Ivy asked, eyes glinting. “You’ve gotta tell us the truth. Are you really a virgin, or is that just the stage persona? Because let me tell you, you do innocent seduction very well.”
Color flooded Lucy’s cheeks so fast I could see it even in the torchlight. She stared at her toes for a beat, then lifted her chin.
“Sadly,” she said dryly, “the marketing is accurate. The label figured my desire for sex sells as long as I’m not actually allowed to have any. ‘Untouched but suggestive’ tested really well in focus groups.” Her mouth twisted. “So I sing about things I haven’t done yet, but want to, and watch everyone else have fun from behind the bodyguard barricade. But hey, it worked, right? I became a billionaire. Yay me.”
Something in my chest pinched.
Lucy nodded, smiling crookedly. “So here we are,” she said. “Virginal popstar crashing a sex island. Thank you all for such a warm fucking welcome.” She sounded bitter.
God, I felt that better than anyone.
“So,” Marco cut in, grabbing a nearly-full bottle of wine and topping off everyone’s glasses that were within reach, “just to recap. We have: one sexcation that is actually a secret elopement, at least three scandals brewing, one virgin popstar, one overworked social media manager on the edge of a nervous breakdown?—”
“Director of Communications and Crisis Management,” Ivy cut in sharply. “Not your personal TikTok intern.”
“—one emotionally stable driver?—”
“That’s debatable,” Kimi interjected mildly.
“—one super hot Italian prince with unresolved issues,” Marco went on, thumbing at his own chest despite the collectivegroan of annoyance, completely unfazed, “one walking French Revolution in human form,” he gestured at me, “and one soon-to-be unemployed Scottish legend,” he finished, tipping his bottle toward Callum. “This is, objectively, the best cast of a reality TV show I’ve ever seen.”
“We are not doing a reality show,” I said firmly.
“Not unemployed,” Callum grumbled. “If you’re too broke to buy into a Formula 1 team, just say that.”
Marco scoffed. “How dare you?”
“Not to brag or anything, but I can afford that,” Lucy threw out nonchalantly. “Can’t have sex though. You win some, you lose some.”
Ivy patted her arm, tone dry. “It’s okay, darling. I have sex, like, four times a year. You’re not completely alone.”
Marco’s head whipped toward her so fast I heard his neck protest. “I’m sorry—four? What do you mean four?”
“Five if I’m lucky.”
“So the blowjob I walked in on?—”
“Yes, Marco,” Ivy cut in crisply. “That would’ve been time number two this year. Thank you so much for that core memory and the reminder that it didn’t even happen. My next hope is the holidays, if the universe decides to be kind.”
He stared at her like someone had just told him Santa wasn’t real. “You’re telling me you look like that and only?—”
Ivy blew out a breath, eyes back on the water. “Sex is meaningful to some of us, Marco,” she said, voice softer but no less sharp. “My body’s fucked up enough as it is. I’m not handing it over to anyone who isn’t serious about taking care of it.”
God, I felt that too.
Marco’s mouth opened, then closed. For once, no slick comeback came out. “Yeah,” he said finally, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay. Fair point. I’ll, uh… shut up now.”
“Write this down,” Kimi murmured. “Historic moment. Marco Bianchi acknowledges being wrong.”
That broke the tension. Everyone chuckled, even Ivy.
“Don’t get used to it,” Marco grumbled. “I’m still right about everything else.”
Beside me, Callum’s chest shook with quiet laughter. His arm tightened around my middle, and then, without warning, he tugged. I let out a soft oof as he pulled me down with him, rolling us so we were on our sides facing the group, my back tucked against his front. Our hands propped our heads up. His other hand settled low on my stomach, thumb brushing back and forth just under the hem of where my romper rode up. A slow, maddening stroke.
“Comfortable?” he murmured, mouth close enough that his lips brushed my ear.
